


You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well

by orphan_account



Series: Yes, I am blind [3]
Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: M/M, morrisseys first solo gig, that look morrissey gives andy please, the smiths last (without johnny), this is a whole lot of ANGST, why is the tape slowed down like that, wolverhampton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: And while it would become one of the most remembered shows amongst fans in the years to come, to him it felt a bit like dying. It was a night you’d want to block out from your memory and never think about again. Which is exactly what Andy did.
Relationships: Morrissey/Andy Rourke
Series: Yes, I am blind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837546
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well

**Author's Note:**

> i had originally planned for this series to have a smutty ending, not too deep, dealing with a loss by the means of a hookup. however i personally find the angst and pining to be so beautiful and devastating at the same time, i don’t even want to mess with it further. so here it is

It was total chaos and yet Morrissey was thriving. Fans leaped from every direction, desperate just to touch him. And he’d let them. Touch, hug, kiss his neck and face. Andy couldn’t remember ever playing a show that was this physical _._ Still, Moz was in his element tonight. 

It was their first show and their last together - without Johnny. It felt fucking wrong. 

Andy wasn’t sure why he agreed to do it. Desperation most likely, because he had massive fucking problems of his own and playing guitar kept him out of trouble for the most part. But not completely. Morrissey was aware but didn’t get involved or ask if he was okay. Andy didn’t blame him, it was scary shit and Moz didn’t handle that stuff well. 

Still, it’d be nice if Morrissey didn’t look at him like he was some giant mistake, because that’s all that night was to Moz: a mistake.

Morrissey forgot it easily, fell back into that familiar routine of he and Johnny. On the outside it appeared fine, the two of them against the world, but inside the studio was a different story. Andy was hopeful that he’d get that knock on his door and Moz would fall into his arms, seek comfort in the silence of each other’s company. But it never happened again. And really, it’s not like Andy could compete with Johnny fucking Marr. 

So he tried to forget - he couldn’t even do that right. It was like Moz was his only singular brain cell and he needed the memory of that night to even exist in the real world.

Morrissey’s mouth pressed against his own, lips moving in a kiss that was obviously meant for another. It had felt so good, so real. And when they slept, Andy’s arms wrapped protectively around Moz in Johnny’s absence. He wished more than anything he’d had the balls to tell Morrissey how he really felt then. It made him feel fucking miserable and worse it was the only thing that ever brought him any sort of release anymore. Add wanking off to that train wreck of a night to the list of his failures.

He was soon going to be left alone and forgotten for good though and that hit him hard like a punch to the gut. He’d be spending the rest of his money on drugs and fantasizing about a bloke who looked at him and saw someone else. What a bright and promising future ahead of him.

Morrissey swiveled his hips and pulled his shirt down exposing his chest, tongue darting out to drag suggestively over his lips. He was practically giving the crowd a striptease to the opening of Disappointed.

Andy supposed this was his way of coping with the loss of Johnny. He watched Moz, captivated like everyone else in the room, struggled to keep his fingers from fumbling over the strings as he played. God was he ever thankful his guitar was mostly covering his crotch because he was the hardest he’d ever been in his entire life and it was all Morrissey’s fault. He hated him. 

But Andy allowed himself to look and to his surprise, he caught Morrissey staring back. When their eyes met it felt like time slowed down, like it was just the two of them in the room. He felt heavy and drunk - his heart ached. Morrissey was more than aware of the affect he was having on the bass player and he made a show of smirking like he’d just won a bet before turning back to the crowd. 

Andy shuddered. He would have done anything to have those eyes back on him even if whatever feelings they bore held little to no real meaning.

He wasn’t sure if he was bitter about the stage invasion or grateful that it saved him from his own pathetic notions. But Moz could barely get a word out before being tackled into an embrace, a kiss. He _loved it_. All these strangers praising him, treating him like a god. Andy found it odd that the shy boy Johnny found those years ago was now here on stage looking like he was made for this kind of attention.

Why couldn’t it still be with The Smiths? 

They had to stop playing for a moment and Andy shifted his weight to one side, awkwardly trying to conceal his arousal. But then Morrissey was tackled to the ground and all thoughts of getting off left him as he was worried that Moz might be hurt. He was fine. Security pulled at fans from every direction until Moz emerged, glowing with satisfaction. He fixed his hair, which was really the only thing he seemed upset about before taking a sip of water. He then looked to Mike, giving him the okay to start into the next song. The crowd erupted into squeals as he began to sing again.

Andy was drowning - he was alone, fingers somehow moving along his bass. He felt empty and there was a dull ache in his stomach like he might puke. God Morrissey would kill him if he did. But maybe that would be better than facing what was to come after this show. Andy’s life depended on The Smiths. What was he supposed to do, beg Morrissey to keep him on as rhythm? Fuck, Johnny would never let that go if he did and truthfully it just wouldn’t work, wouldn’t be as organic as it was when it was all four of them. 

So this was it. He’d lost his best friend, he was losing Moz after tonight (had he ever truly had him?) - and Mike too most likely. Fuck, tonight was probably the last time they’d all be in the same room together. And while it would become of the most remembered shows amongst fans in the years to come, to him it felt a bit like dying. It was a night you’d want to block out from your memory and never think about again. Which is exactly what Andy did.


End file.
